The Hauntings of Scott Remington

by Robert B Marcus Jr

  I could tell by the headdress of one of them that they were of the Xiu family. Had they come from Uxmal?

  Two darted up to our front door and pushed through the curtain. One swung his sword at my wife’s mother, and blood spurted from her back.

  The other holcan jabbed his spear at my infant daughter, in a little basket in the corner. The target must’ve been smaller than he realized, because he missed, penetrating only the thatch of the basket. His balance affected, I grabbed my spear and jammed it through his side. The first warrior turned his attention toward me, but I was ready, and I speared him as well. Gasping, he fell to the ground, and to my surprise no other Xiu holcan entered our home.

  My wife knelt over her dying mother. Pain in her eyes, she glanced up at me and said, “We must take our baby away from here, where there are no Xiu.” Then, with her mother’s blood all over her hands, she arose, and we left.

  Feeling sorry for Ichika but knowing I wouldn’t miss her mother, I picked up my daughter and peered through the crack in the door curtain. There was a mob outside, but no holcan were in sight. We had to get away.

  But when we darted out of the house, we were surrounded by Raxka and members of her family, including her evil mother.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The sun was only an hour or so from the horizon when I awoke. Sometimes my unconscious is capable of solving a problem that my conscious mind cannot solve. This was one of those times.

  I stood up and stretched. The woods around me were quiet except for the chirping and squeaking of a few insects. I was getting hungry, having had nothing to eat since a bite on the boat that morning. But at least I had a plan to get off the island now. The image of one of the cruise ship’s buffets crossed my mind, and I suddenly looked forward to my avenue of escape. I had plenty of money, even after giving $10,000 to Manual.

  But if I was going to get on one of the cruise ships that docked here, I would have to look more presentable. And maybe I would have to rent a hotel room for a few days until a ship came along that I could board.

  Staring down at my tattered and filthy clothes, I knew I couldn’t go to the Four Seasons like this, even with $40,000 in my pocket.

  Over the next hour, I carefully made my way back to Albert Panton Street and found a high-end clothing store. The owner was a little disconcerted when I walked in with my scraggly beard and dirty clothes and face, but when I pulled out my cash and asked him for a Paul Smith suit in my size he quickly found one, though the pants needed some adjustment, as well as the sleeves on the coat.

  “I can have them back for you tomorrow,” he said after measuring me.

  I noticed that an elderly lady sat at a sewing machine in a small room next to the dressing room where he had taken me to be measured. “Would a little extra encourage a faster turnaround?” I asked. I took out another hundred-dollar bill.

  His eyes turned greedy, the pupils expanding. “I’ll have to ask my seamstress,” he said.

  “I’ll ask her,” I replied, but as he snatched the bill from my hand he said, “The changes will be done in an hour.”

  I knew she would never see a penny of the hundred.

  “Is there somewhere around here I could get a shave and a haircut?” I asked. I’d done very little grooming during my time at the Mayan village.

  “Three doors down,” he replied. “Look for the shop named Daniel’s.”

  Telling him I’d pay another hundred if the clothes were done when I came back from my haircut, I walked down to Daniel’s. No one was waiting, so I climbed into the empty chair next to the window.

  “Ya been in a fight, mon?” the barber said with his very Jamaican accent. In the background “Big Bamboo” was playing again. Certain parts of the male anatomy were treasured by the inhabitants of the islands.

  “Yep, you should’ve seen the other guys,” I said, trying to sound as though I was joking. “They decided not to finish the fight, preferring a tumble instead.”

  The barber laughed. “Didn’t take a shine to ya, huh?”

  “You could say that,” I said. “But you could say that they fell for me.”

  Realizing he had misinterpreted me when he frowned, he asked, “Girl trouble?”

  “It’s not that simple,” I replied.

  He slapped his thigh. “I get it! Hope he didn’t have a bigger bamboo or ya never get her back.”

  “Maybe I’ll shorten his,” I said.

  He laughed again. “Short and stubby not work well.”

  After he finished the haircut and shave, I paid him, added a big tip, and walked back to the clothing store, picked up my suit and shirt, put everything on, and had the owner order me a taxi to the Four Seasons.

  I had no bag, but my Edward Windsor ID worked without a credit card after I had the clerk behind the desk call the bank president and I put down a large cash deposit. He gave me a room overlooking the ocean.

  I took a long shower. then dropped into bed, falling asleep before my head sank into the pillow.

  I was back on top of the platform, huddled with the masses of condemned Cocom family members and a few of my own family, the only survivors of the slaughter by the Xiu attackers.

  I had no idea whether my wife, Ichika, or my daughter were still alive. I fought the pain that seized my chest.

  Then I saw Raxka outside the wall that imprisoned us as she passed by one of the narrow gaps in the wall.

  Suddenly the mob quivered, and I noticed that we were being led outside the prison. Were we being released?

  A Mayan holcan suddenly appeared, wielding a long spear that he poked into my side. He jabbed me to the front of the mob, then down the stone stairs.

  Gazing around me, I found that Raxka was at my side. At first, she said nothing, but as the mob of prisoners were led to the high stone wall that protected the city of Mayapán, she finally turned and addressed me.

  “Your daughter must die,” she said.

  “She’s only a few weeks old!” I implored.

  “But she’s not mine. You are mine, according to the terms of the marriage that our fathers agreed to. The atanzahab arranged it. No child of another woman is welcome in my house.”

  “She is mine. I will raise her, even if you won’t. I won’t live in your house, or the house of any Xiu.”

  “That is not your choice. My father has talked to the ah kin, who spoke to the ah nakom, who will do the sacrifice. She will be a gift to the Rain God, Chaac, then we will all benefit.”

  I pictured my infant daughter being thrown into the cenote, or the ah nakom priest slashing out her tiny still-beating heart, and I reached toward Raxka, wanting to strangle her. But my hand was seized by a holcan and jerked backward. He won the battle, since he was a hand taller than I was. I pictured my young daughter and tried to pull away, but the holcan wrestled me to the ground, pushing the tip of the spear against my stomach. Blood poured from the wound, though when I looked down, it didn’t appear as deep as I’d expected it to be. I dried off the wound with some leaves, then was allowed to climb to my feet.

  And start marching.

  The day was hot, a boiling sun cooking us from the sky as we trampled along the narrow road that led from Mayapán to Chichén Itzá. Small villages popped up along the road every few thousand steps, groups of small huts with thatched roofs surrounded by fields, chickens and dogs running loose in the open spaces.

  As the sun neared its resting place for the night, we finally paused in our journey to recover for the evening. Many holcan surrounded us, their swords and spears out and threatening. The prisoners huddled, finally allowed to lie down on the sandy ground. Raxka disappeared, obviously being given the privile
ge of sleeping on a mat in one of the tents made from fibers of the hamack tree the holcan brought along.

  They raised the tents rapidly, then picked a few of the armed men to stand guard, probably planning to rotate every few hours.

  I settled down as near to the edge of the mob that I could. Jugs of water were passed around from somewhere, but there was no food. No point in feeding condemned prisoners. In a day or two, after being thrown into the Sacred Cenote, we wouldn’t care whether we were fed tonight or not.

  Finally, my legs exhausted, I slept, dreaming of a comfortable bed somewhere, a bed unlike any I had ever encountered.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Early the next morning, I went downstairs to the hotel concierge.

  A lot of cruise ships visit George Town, but few depart from there. However, on all cruise ships, cabins do open up on the cruise for various reasons, so if you know who to contact, a cabin may become available halfway through a cruise. The cruise lines don’t like empty cabins—they only make money on occupied ones.

  The concierge knew who to call, and by noon I had a cheap, interior cabin on The Sea Shadow. I walked downtown, bought a fancy suitcase and all the necessities I would need, including underwear and other clothes, ate lunch, then took a tender to the ship. I was a little concerned during my escapade of running into additional thugs, but luck was with me; either that or they’d already assumed I’d left the island. No one assaulted me the entire time.

  The ship was at the end of its run, which suited me fine. From George Town it crossed the Gulf back to Miami, with one open day in between. I explored the ship, of course, and found no suspicious people following or haunting me. I didn’t want to discuss my life, so I avoided dinner in the main dining room, choosing to eat at the buffet at the top of the ship. The food was okay, but nothing like the room service dinner I’d had at the Four Seasons the night before.

  I had decided to hunt for Carolyn first, since I knew at least in theory where she lived. I didn’t have an address, but St. Augustine was a small city, so I shouldn’t have too much of a problem finding her.

  I had no clue about Eve. Her mother had a house in George Town and was here when I arrived, but I doubted that she and her thugs were still there, though I wasn’t sure what I based that conclusion on.

  Why was I so obsessed with finding these two women?

  I searched my mind for the answer, but had trouble accepting it. Why didn’t I just leave everything alone and move on? If there truly was a mad woman hunting me, maybe she would leave me alone if I couldn’t be found.

  But I wasn’t afraid of her. I had never run from a challenge, and this was a challenge. I knew I couldn’t leave it alone. I needed to know who was after me.

  I would find Carolyn.

  And then Eve.

  Who should have Eme.

  Maybe it was her I was after?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  When I left the ship in Miami, I bought a bus ticket to St. Augustine. I had cash and a couple ID’s, including that of Edward Windsor, but I didn’t have a credit card, so I couldn’t rent a car. Maybe I should have just bought one—I had enough cash in my pocket for that, but I didn’t bother—it seemed like too much trouble.

  It was a long ride up U.S. 1, since we stopped at ten cities along the way. A nonstop bus to Jacksonville raced up I-95, but it didn’t leave anytime soon.

  Twelve hours later we arrived, and I took a taxi to a small hotel I was familiar with. A business room in the lobby had an available computer. I looked up Carolyn Wiggins, found her without any trouble. She lived on Oneida Street, close to the crossing of South Street, not far from the Inland Waterway.

  I didn’t have a clear plan in mind, so I walked to her house, since it wasn’t far. The house across the street had a large wooded lot, where I settled down behind a tree and waited.

  No one had come in and out of the house by evening, so I meandered back to the hotel that overlooked the inner harbor, defended by the Castillo de San Marcos fort, built in the 1600s.

  This entire section of town was old, filled with memories . . . and ghosts.

  The interior of the hotel was new, but the framework had been built many years before. I’d asked the clerk at the desk when I checked in, but he knew nothing about the history. I was surprised. Most businesses in a town like this made sure their employees knew as much about the background of the business as possible, to try to convince customers to come back.

  I ordered a healthy meal from room service, wanting a hamburger but feeling very guilty every time I’d had one lately. I’d spent my life keeping in shape, eating healthily, doing everything I could to stay fit and strong. Now I was sort of moving on, though I still had no idea what direction I was heading in. The only thing I knew for sure was that I was through working for Anthony Simone. My life needed to go in another direction.

  And he would probably never forgive me for leaving him.

  I was tired, so I took a bath, changed into the pair of pajamas I’d bought in Georgetown two days before and climbed into bed.

  The phone rang.

  I picked up.

  A woman’s voice whispered, “You’ve delayed your fate long enough—now it’s time for you to die.”

  “You already said that,” I replied, but the phone was dead.

  Shaken, I dropped the phone. She’d found me again!!!

  My mind fought sleep for hours, but finally I succumbed to its charms.

  Morning came, and one of the holcan jabbed me with a spear, rousing me out of my sleep on the hard ground. I’d tried to find something to put my head on, but without success, so when I sat up my head felt like a rock was impacting it. Fighting off the aches and pains in my joints, I climbed to my feet. The holcan prodded me forward.

  I looked around for Raxka but didn’t see her.

  Then suddenly she was at my side. She didn’t have my daughter.

  “Where’s my daughter?” I asked, dreading the answer.

  “Your little piece of Cocom dung is with my mother. She will bring the trash to the proper destination.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To the old city.”

  Chichén Itzá.

  “What is there?” I asked. But I knew.

  The Sacred Cenote.

  The old city had been conquered, destroyed, burned, and now lay in ruins, but the Sacred Cenote remained, still used when needed.

  For sacrifices.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Sleep didn’t come easily anymore. I tossed and turned throughout the night.

  She was standing over the bed when I awoke about four in the morning, holding a knife over her head. I’d left the bathroom light on for perhaps the first time in my life, so I could see her face. I could see those eyes, angry and full of determination, and the face with that long nose and slanted forehead—it was the face out of my dreams. Raxka. But how could she possibly be here? And why would she be trying to kill me here, in this time?

  The knife plunged downward.

  I twisted off the bed, tumbling into the corner of the room by the bathroom door. My feet tangled with the blanket as I fell, pulling it behind me, trapping me for a few seconds.

  I waited for the stab into my chest, accepting that she had finally achieved her goal.

  But nothing came.

  I looked around.

  She was gone. Had it been just another dream? It had seemed so real.

  The phone beside the bed began to ring again. When I answered, that familiar voice said, “It is time for you to die.”

  Again!

 
Morning came slowly and finally arrived. I decided just to get it over with and went to Carolyn’s house and knocked on the front door.

  She didn’t seem at all surprised to see me.

  “Mom and I are going for dinner downtown this evening,” she said. “We have some errands to do today, but you’re welcome to join us for dinner.”

  I couldn’t refuse, though I felt that the invitation was lukewarm.

  Returning to my hotel, I rested for a while, then walked down St. George Street, where buildings from the 1600s and 1700s enveloped me. Most were now converted and renovated into bars and restaurants, but there was a chocolate shop that I couldn’t ignore.

  I had very little time before dinner when I got back to the hotel, but did manage to make it to their house a few minutes early.

  I rode with them in their SUV to a popular seafood restaurant on the beach. We parked and walked out a short pier to the restaurant over the water.

  After we sat down, I looked at the menu. Carolyn didn’t look at me, but her mother’s eyes tracked every move I made.

  After my meals in the Mayan village, I put foods not made out of corn at the top of my mental list. Chicken wasn’t at the top either, so a good steak appealed, even though seafood was the specialty here. I fixated on the rib eye on the menu, avoiding eye contact while Carolyn and her mother made their decisions.

  “How did you find us?” Carolyn asked.

  “You told me where you lived.”

  “I heard some interesting things about you,” Carolyn said.

  “What did you hear?”

  “That you were mugged in Progresso.”

  “I was poisoned.”

  “And you can read Mayan hieroglyphs.”

  “That, I don’t know for sure.”

  “In Mayapán you apparently found Eme’s name written in Mayan glyphs on a stone hidden by a wall.”